Jaded Jewels (Born Bratva Book 7)

by Suzanne Steele

  As he watched the two couples working so smoothly together, Bazarnik wondered if any woman would ever be right for him. Did such a woman even exist? And in the ultimate irony, would being with him put her in perpetual brace mode—waiting for the force of nature that was Bazarnik to be unleashed on her?

  Oleg’s attention was focused on his woman, who was gritting her teeth as she peered through her binoculars. It was never a good sign when her emotions showed because her emotions always went far deeper than what was revealed on her face. If she looked mad, she was furious. If she looked happy, she was ecstatic. Everything was always over the top with her. She was as deadly as any of the men who worked for her father. Of all the children, Oleg thought she was the most like her aunt Vladimira, but without the benefit of time to hone her sharp edges. As smart as Roksana was, there was wisdom that only came with the passing of time.

  “What is it?” he asked as he studied her scowling face.

  “There is no room for error tonight, everything has to go perfectly. And we are so fucking outnumbered.”

  He kept his voice low so that only she could hear. “Roksana…if you keep it simple, we can blow this place up and be out of here before anybody knows what happened. Saving the dogs is what’s making this suicide.”

  She lowered her binoculars and glanced over at him smugly. “We aren’t going in to get them.” Oleg visibly relaxed, his relief palpable...but short-lived. “They’re going to come to us.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head, resigned to the fact that she was the only woman in the world that he would put his life on the line for because of a bunch of fucking dogs.

  “Well,” he grumbled, “I can’t wait to see how you plan to do that. I can tell you this right now, though: somebody’s getting their fucking fingers broken over this shit.”

  Roksana smiled before turning around and resuming surveillance. But she knew he was right. What they were doing could very well be suicide. But her heart wouldn’t listen. When she thought of the plight of those dogs, she didn’t see aggressive beasts who were beyond redemption. She saw battle-hardened warriors who would be doomed to a death sentence unless someone intervened. She’d never be able to look at herself in the mirror if she didn’t do something to make it right. The threat of danger was ever-present, but whether it would manifest in the form of death remained to be seen.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hector stood by quietly, watching people place their bets. Money was flowing as freely as the cerveza. It worked for him; every time these assholes got together they got drunk, and that meant they would freely spend money they may or may not be able to afford to let go of. Hector didn’t give a fuck if their lights got turned off, it wasn’t his problem if they had no discipline. Somebody was going to get rich and it might as well be him.

  By the end of the night he would be richer and one step closer to taking over the position he coveted. Being the boss of the Sinaloan cartel would ensure he never had to worry about working a legit job a day in his life. Sure, it meant his life would be in danger 24/7, but it didn’t change the fact that he wanted that position more than he’d ever wanted anything.

  He had tried to convince himself that he was motivated by an altruistic desire to unite a cartel that seemed bent on imploding, and not simple greed or lust for power. But in his heart, he knew his motives weren’t entirely selfless. Hector had always been about only one thing: Hector.

  “Alright, all bets are off, motherfuckers.” He looked down at Mauler and wondered why a dog that was so good at fighting acted like he hated it. There were two things Hector loved – money and power -- and being an animal lover didn’t enter into the equation. The dog with its distinctive gray coloring was just a means to an end.

  Hector loved this life. He loved the money he made from the fights and from the drugs deals that went down during and after the event. Tonight, he had a surprise for these losers: nobody was getting out of here without paying up. He would wait until the last fight was just about over and lock these assholes in. Nobody would leave until he decided they could go home. He had fitted the back door with steel brackets that a two by four would fit into from the outside. He came up with the idea after the last dogfight when a few people lost big and left without paying up. It had been a pain in the ass to have to track people down and ‘persuade’ them to honor their bets. Never again.

  They were already midway through tonight’s event, with three fights finished and the main attraction still to come. Some dogfights would end because one dog simply stopped fighting, either from exhaustion or injury. If things went really well, the dogs fought to the death. Earlier tonight, a fight had ended after a dog refused to continue. He had had enough and couldn’t go on. The winning dog was shuddering and unsteady on its feet as it stood over the loser.

  The crowd was growing impatient with the lengthy pause between fights as the pit was cleared of the aftermath of the brutal battle. The dogs were slick with blood, with the loser lying in a growing puddle of the stuff. His death was inevitable, the injuries were catastrophic. Moments later, the losing dog’s owner approached and put a bullet in the dog’s skull.

  The carcass was removed as winnings were paid out and losers paid up -- uneventfully, for once. The crowd thinned out a bit as the scene was set for a fight that was not on the official list for the night. It was an exclusive event for a dozen or so cartel heavy hitters. The fight was between Hector’s undefeated dog, Mauler, and an undefeated challenger.

  Mauler seemed to know it was show time, trembling with nervous energy, already growling as he tugged against Hector’s hold. Hector bent down and hissed in Mauler’s ear, “You better win tonight, little fucker, or I’ll kill you myself.”

  At the referee’s signal, Hector released Mauler and the fight was on. The two dogs lunged toward each other, clashing in mid-air before tumbling to the ground in a snarling, twisting heap as each dog went for first blood.

  As the crowd cheered encouragement for their dog of choice, Hector took a good look around. Oh, how he loved this shit. It was like the Roman gladiator battles as fresh blood joined the spatters of dried blood on the walls surrounding the two frenzied dogs. He settled in to enjoy the show. He knew his dog would show no mercy. Yes, Mauler was in fine form tonight.

  Little did he know that mercy – for the dogs, anyway – would soon be at hand, and from a most unlikely source.

  Roksana knew what the gunshot signified. A dog had been put down, either because the dog had humiliated its owner with a loss or its injuries were catastrophic.

  “Fuck this,” she muttered with disgust. After the gunshot, they had had to wait while most of the crowd left, leaving only the cartel’s heavy hitters in the building to watch the final contest. Then they had moved from their position on the hill, to be closer to the back of the building. It was a risky move necessitated by Roksana’s determination to rescue the dogs.

  She placed the dog whistle to her lips and blew as long and hard as she could. If things went according to plan, the roar of the crowd wouldn’t interfere with the whistle’s high-frequency tone reaching the dogs’ ears. What the people couldn’t hear, the dogs would. She was counting on that.

  She had faced some skepticism when she told the others what she was going to do. She wasn’t offended; she knew it was a risky plan but she had researched it and felt certain it would work without risking her team’s safety. So, now the moment of truth had arrived. The dogs from the earlier fights were either dead or on their way home to recover from their injuries, but the final two dogs were still inside. She hoped like hell these dumb asses had conditioned the dogs to drop and run at the sound of a dog whistle, and that they would come to the source of the sound, not their owners. If not, the dogs were screwed and there would be nothing to be done about it. She would have to live with that. She’d know soon enough.

  “You knew I would never let you go in there and break up that fight. But a dog whistle? I can’t decide if you’re a genius or insane.
” Oleg final comment was said more to himself than the woman he loved. All in all, it was a smart idea. Risky, but smart. Maybe even brilliant – if it worked. He hoped like hell it worked.

  Oleg shook his head in disbelief when two bloodied, battered dogs burst onto the scene, appearing confused as they searched unfamiliar faces for the source of the whistle. Predictable as ever, Hector was hard on their heels through the main door. He was cussing a blue streak as he exited the building, roaring his displeasure. Oleg shoved the door closed and stood in front of it as Anastasia and Dmitriy slid a 2x4 into place, securing it from the outside. In the ultimate irony, Hector had already secured the other entrances, so from this point on, nobody in, nobody out.

  Bazarnik stepped out from the shadows and pressed the barrel of his gun to Hector’s temple, snarling through clenched teeth, “Not so fast, motherfucker!”

  After seeing him in action, Oleg had a newfound respect for Bazarnik. He was a man of worth and not to be fucked with. Oleg liked his brash style.

  When Oleg turned to help Roksana corral the dogs into the back of the van, he was transfixed by the sight before him.

  Roksana was crouched down on one knee in front of the two bloody, snarling dogs. Pit bulls -- one brown and white, the other a slate gray with what appeared to be a white chest. The blood made it hard to be sure. One thing was certain: both dogs were still riding the wave of adrenalin that fueled their aggression.

  Oleg felt lightheaded at the sight of his wife within striking distance of two bloodthirsty dogs. These were not small dogs; they were large, heavily muscled and probably bred for the brutal life they’d been living. He steadied himself by placing his hand on the door, knowing that he couldn’t help her if he was passed out on the ground. He took a step forward, not sure what he was going to do when he got to her, only to be stopped by Roksana subtly waving him off.

  He was stuck. If he approached the dogs or even reached for his gun, they would have Roksana in pieces before he could get to her. Shit. He’d have to leave this in Roksana’s hands and go on faith that she knew what she was doing. But if either of those dogs charged at her, they’d have a bullet in their brain. He had never doubted her before and he wasn’t going to start now, so he stayed perfectly still and watched the Pakhan’s daughter perform nothing short of a miracle.

  He couldn’t make out what she was saying to the agitated canines at first, could only hear soft coos and gently murmured words of encouragement, then silence. She showed no fear, was utterly serene and quietly confident.

  As Oleg watched the scene unfold, the dogs slowly abandoned their aggressive stance. Their loud panting and growling gave way to slow, steady breaths and utter stillness as they gazed at her. When they sat on their haunches in front of her, she praised them, looking from one to the other as she slowly raised her arm straight out in front of her, hand extended palm down. Her soft murmuring resumed when the gray beast stepped forward tentatively and sniffed her hand, whining softly.

  Oleg could barely breathe when his wife gently scratched the dog under the chin. The dog didn’t seem to know what to do, had probably never experienced kindness before. The gray beast took another step toward her and leaned forward, as if to make it easier for her to touch him. So, she did.

  “You like that, don’t you? Such a strong, brave warrior you are,” Roksana cooed as she became more confident, sweeping her hand along the dog’s silvery gray jawline and down his thick neck, unconcerned about the blood clinging to her hand.

  “And you, look how beautiful you are,” she whispered to the brown dog, who had moved closer to her. He offered his chin for her attention and tentatively wagged his tail when she touched him.

  It had only taken a minute or two for Roksana to have both dogs under her spell. Scratching became petting, which became sloppy licks on her face with tails wagging.

  “Hey, Oleg,” Bazarnik murmured quietly, “you better watch your back, man. I think the gray boy’s in love--”

  “What the fuck is she doing to my dog?!” Hector bellowed indignantly, but abruptly shut his mouth when Bazarnik jammed the barrel of his gun harder against the side of his head. Oleg braced for mayhem as the gray dog spun around toward Hector, snarling with his teeth bared.

  The brown dog’s legs buckled abruptly and he dropped to the ground, panting and trembling. The physical strain of the fight had finally caught up with him. The gray dog sniffed the brown dog, then took several steps forward, assuming a protective stance in front of the other dog and their gentle rescuer. A low growl rumbled from his chest as he stared at Hector.

  “Are you blind, motherfucker? He’s not your dog anymore,” Bazarnik gloated.

  An abrupt increase in noise from within the building was Oleg’s signal to move things along.

  “I hate to interrupt this lovefest, but we need to get the hell out of here. Get them loaded up,” he said as he cuffed Hector and shoved him toward the van. “This sack of shit, too.”

  They moved swiftly through the rest of the plan like a well-oiled machine. Roksana kept her hand in constant contact with the brown dog’s jaw as Bazarnik lifted him into the van. Moments later, both dogs were secured in the separate cages she had placed in the back of the van in the hopes of rescuing at least a couple of the dogs.

  Hector was struggling to understand what he was seeing. One minute he was watching his dog practically chew another dog’s leg off, and the next minute he had a gun to his head as he had watched his dog fall in love and jump into a stranger’s van. “What the f--” Hector never saw it coming when Bazarnik smashed the butt of his gun against the side of his head. Then everything went black.

  Bazarnik heaved an unconscious Hector into the back of the van. He grinned when both dogs bared their teeth and growled at the asshole.

  With dogs and humans secured inside the van, they took off to the top of the hill. Before anyone could break down the doors and escape, Bazarnik pushed the detonator button. He closed his eyes and savored that split second of thick, heavy silence that always seemed to precede a blast. Then the building exploded and flames shot into the sky.

  Bazarnik’s hands trembled as he videotaped the destruction on his smart phone. He would watch it later over and over, feeding the beast in his soul that demanded fire. Then he would remove the video from his phone and place it on an encrypted flash drive that he would store in his safe.

  The video footage helped him contain the clawing need that nearly consumed him when he couldn’t soothe his soul with fire. As he watched the flames consume the building and all those inside, he decided Alexander Glazov was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  After so many years of anguish and isolation Bazarnik was finally part of something bigger than himself, and he thought that maybe that would help him. He was born feral and he would die feral, but having some semblance of peace during the journey would be a welcome change.

  He’d grown up in the back alleys of Russia. Home hadn’t been a place he wanted to be, what with an alcoholic father and a weak ass codependent mother who made excuses for her belligerent drunk of a husband. He had vowed he would never marry a weak woman. That was one thing he could say about the women here, they were strong and each one was a force to be reckoned with. Their men were better because of them, not despite them.

  He could feel Oleg’s eyes on him. Even though it sent a chill up his spine, he turned to face him.

  “You did well,” Oleg spoke through tight lips.

  “Thanks, man.”

  Oleg shook his head like he knew Bazarnik wasn’t getting what he was saying. “No. Saving those dogs could have turned this into a suicide mission but you handled it like a real pro.”

  Bazarnik’s lip cocked up on one side and the playful look in his eyes did nothing to mask the blood that ran cold through his veins. “That’s because I am a pro.”

  “One of those dogs is Roksana’s. The other belongs to you.”

  “That’s very generous of you, thanks. I’ve never had a dog
before. As in all things, ladies first. So, let her figure out which one she wants and I’ll take the other.”

  Dmitriy guffawed, “Now that’s a first: a chivalrous pyromaniac.”

  The banter underscored Bazarnik’s acceptance into the inner circle. He’d proven himself tonight. Talk was one thing, anyone could do that. What Bazarnik accomplished tonight was action, pure and simple. He had worked with the team like they had been working together for years. Not an easy feat.

  “As much as I hate to interrupt, what’s the plan now?” Dmitriy asked. “We need to get these dogs settled. I say we incinerate this motherfucker and go home.”

  “Roksana has something special in mind for him. I’ll call one of the guards to meet us at the warehouse so they can take the van and get the dogs settled.” Oleg then directed his attention toward Bazarnik. “Hey, Fireman. Would you like to do the honors when Roksana is finished playing with her new toy?”

  “You better believe it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Glazov sat at his desk watching the local news report about a fire at a vacant warehouse. The reporter detailed for viewers how firefighters were currently on the scene battling a blaze that was likely caused by a faulty fuel line. Of course, investigators wouldn’t know for sure until the fire was contained. There was no word yet on fatalities. The anchor conveyed the report with an appropriately concerned scowl, of course. Glazov hit the power button on the remote control and tossed it onto the desk. He’d seen enough.

  “Looks like our boy got the job done.” Novak could feel the pride well up in his chest, much like a father would have for his son. He had been watching out for Bazarnik since he arrived in Louisville. He recognized a kindred spirit.

  “The team got the job done. I’m pleased that he works with the group so well. Had he not been able to work with them, we would have had a problem. He’s a lone wolf and I won’t tolerate him being left to himself. He’s got too many issues. I told you when I agreed to bring him here that I didn’t want him drawing attention our way.”